Tender Shoots
by Elwen
Summary: Bilbo gets some gardening tips from Hamfast Gamgee. Story dedicated to Shirebound on her birthday.


"Can't I do it tomorrow, Bilbo?" Frodo's eyes held all the wheedling power he could muster, which was considerable. But Bilbo was determined not to give in. He had succumbed too often over these past months and his nephew's bedroom looked as though a heavy winter windstorm had torn through it.

"No, Frodo. Tomorrow will not do, nor the day after. I want that room tidy, swept and dusted today." Bilbo tried his sternest voice, reinforcing it with a dark glare when he saw Frodo's jaw clench in the beginnings of protest. They were having this battle more and more frequently, of late.

Frodo seemed to spend far too much time moping about the smial. He was not at all interested in the books that Bilbo had given him, something that the older hobbit found most perplexing for the lad had always been a reader. And as for cleaning up his room or helping out in the kitchen . . .

Dora had pointed out, in her many letters since the lad's arrival, that Frodo had been allowed far too much freedom at Brandy Hall, and that was what had landed him in all sorts of scrapes. Unused to the ways of young folk, Bilbo could only bow to her feminine intuition on such matters. That there was a quick, bright mind in Frodo's head was very clear, but it seemed to want to turn in any direction but the right one and Dora suggested a firm hand was needed.

Frodo's bedroom door did not exactly slam in Bilbo's face, but it was closed very firmly and for a moment the older hobbit considered following. Too often their conversations were ending thus. But the moment passed, and instead he pulled out his pipe and tobacco pouch, retiring to the garden bench beneath the parlour window.

The Gaffer was on hands and knees in the flowerbed beside the path.

"Mornin' Mister Bilbo. Tis a fine day."

Bilbo lit his pipe and took several draws to ensure that the leaf caught, letting the mild smoke fill his mouth. He glanced around at the colour-filled summer garden, set against a strong blue sky, and smiled.

"Made more so by your attentions to my garden, Ham." Bilbo sighed as he looked back at the door to Bag End. "The atmosphere out here is definitely preferable to that inside."

Hamfast made no comment, concentrating on tying a honeysuckle vine to the framework of threads he had knotted about the doorframe.

Bilbo drew in another mouthful of smoke, feeling himself relax. Then he winced as he heard a series of loud bangs was heard drifting from Frodo's open bedroom window at the far side of the front door. Hamfast paused in his work and glanced up at the unhappy bachelor on the bench.

"Sounds like young Master Frodo's lost somethin'," he commented.

Bilbo snorted. "Not least, his manners," he replied.

The comment raised a small smile from Hamfast and, with a glance at the far window, he rose and moved to the border of flowers beside Bilbo's bench. With deft fingers he began to tie in another honeysuckle vine about the parlour casement. The scent would carry into the room nicely when the window was open. As he worked he talked, his voice low enough to carry no further than Bilbo.

"You know, bairns is like a garden. You've got to know what to feed 'em, when to cut 'em back and when to let 'em go." When Bilbo did not rail at his temerity for daring to advise his betters, Hamfast continued.

"Now, you take this here honeysuckle. 'Tis a beautiful thing but it'll sprawl all over the place if you don't give it a bit of trellisin' or nettin' to hold its shape and tie it in to it, gentle like. Do that and you'll have a front doorstep to be proud of."

Bilbo shook his head. "I've tried giving him a framework. Frodo does not seem to want to be tied in."

Hamfast continued his gentle ministrations to the honeysuckle. "Aye well, that has to be done gentle or you'll damage the stems and there'll be no flowers. You've got to give 'em a little room to move in the wind as well, so that the stems can grow sturdy and the roots can dig deep."

Bilbo sighed, his voice a little exasperated as he replied. "I've tried giving him freedom, too. Frodo has the run of the garden and the smial and I make few demands on his time. All I really ask of him is that he keep his own room tidy, and you can hear the results of that effort." Both hobbits cringed at the sound of a poorly balanced drawer shrieking in protest as it was forced shut.

Hamfast's rough but low voice came again. "Well, now, Mister Bilbo. Young Master Frodo is of an age where a garden ain't quite big enough for him. And I understand he used to get about quite a bit when he was livin' with his other relations, away down yonder."

"Frodo got about far too much, Ham. That's one of the reasons I took him on. You've heard the talk in the Green Dragon. "The Terror of Brandy Hall", he was called, and I had hoped that bringing him to Hobbiton would calm him down. Instead he prowls about like some caged wild animal." Bilbo turned to watch Ham as the master gardener continued to tie in the wayward vine with deft fingers. "Dora was right," he sighed around an exhalation of longbottom leaf. "I'm not cut out for this and he needs more reining in than I can manage. How Esmeralda coped all these years I'll never know. And anyway . . . I have to confess that I get worried when I can't see Frodo. What happens if he gets hurt whilst in my care?"

Hamfast smiled knowingly. "My Da planted yon apple tree when I were just a bairn meself. He put it in the ground, fed it and pruned it. Even staked it loosely at first so's it would stand against the wind. But that's all he could do. See how it's a bit lopsided there, on the left? There was a terrible storm and one of the main branches was ripped off. Do you remember? It came through the parlour window and near frightened the living daylights out of you."

Bilbo chuckled. "I remember. I thought the smial was collapsing about my head."

Hamfast's smile widened. "My Da couldn't do nothin' about that. He weren't even alive then. But he'd given that tree a good start in life and then he had to leave it to find its own way, other than a little pruning each year. And that tree's still here, despite that storm. Bairns get into bother and sometimes they get hurt. But there's nothin' you can do to stop it. They learn from their mistakes and grow a little wiser each day." He set down his knife and twine and wiped his hands on his breeches. "If you'll pardon me saying so, Mister Bilbo. Master Frodo needs to be able to explore and learn about the world. There's more to growing up than gaining inches. But on the other hand, if you give him something to come home to he's not likely to want to stray too far."

"I am afraid that the longer Frodo lives with me the more I realise that I have little to offer him, other than a roof over his head. He shows no interest in reading or writing anymore, although he has an agile mind. I've given him dozens of books but I don't think he's even opened some of them."

Hamfast nodded towards the bright summer border, where marigolds nodded cheek by jowl with goldenrod and eager nasturtium. "Most plants like the company of other plants. They don't like to be alone and as long as each of them plays fair and don't try to push the other one down they rub along happy enough. Bairns need company too. And I'm not talkin' about other bairns, though I see my Samwise has taken a shine to your lad and I hope you don't think him too forward for it."

Bilbo hastened to reassure him. "Oh no. I am very pleased that Frodo and Sam have become friends. Despite the difference in ages, Sam seems to be a steadying influence on Frodo. But I don't see how Frodo needs me. In fact, he only seems to want to vex me every time we are in the same room."

"When you move a plant from one part of the garden to another you have to coax it along a bit. Spend some time with it, feeding and watering so that it will take hold properly and spread its roots."

Bilbo looked down at his pipe, cold in his hand now the weed had gone out. "I had assumed that because he looked after himself at Brandy Hall he would do it here too. The Mistress of the Hall said he could be independent to a fault. So I've left him alone. Now we either don't talk at all or we do so at a level just short of shouting. He was never this difficult to talk to when I visited Brandy Hall, and he seemed desperate to come to Hobbiton, away from all the bustle. But now he's here he seems to hate it. I thought he would like the quiet."

"Mayhap young Master Frodo was looking forward to companionship as much as quiet. Bustle ain't the same as company. And silence ain't the same as quiet. Maybe Master Frodo would like them books more if they was shared."

Both hobbits looked up as they heard the firm snick of a door within the smial. The slap of footsteps on tile floor preceded the appearance of a hot and dishevelled Frodo in the doorway. His voice bordered on belligerent, and the still softly rounded chin held a hint of the squareness that would come with full adulthood. "I've finished. Are you going to inspect it?"

Bilbo deliberately kept his voice light as his gaze moved to the curling tendrils of as yet unflowering honeysuckle brushing Frodo's dark curls.

"I don't think I need do that, Frodo; I trust you. It is a hot day for such heavy work, and you look as though you could do with a cool drink. There's some lemonade left in the kitchen, and you've certainly earned it. Then we'll pack a picnic basket and go for a walk. I had a new book delivered yesterday and I know just the place to read it. Do you like stories about elves, Frodo?"

Frodo blinked. "Er. Yes. I do. Where are we going, Uncle?" The blue eyes were curious now, and Bilbo smiled.

"I thought we'd head off to Bywater Pool for a start and then into the woods. It will be cooler there." Bilbo joined the younger Baggins in the doorway and both turned to enter the cooler air of the smial. "You go ahead and pour us both a glass of lemonade."

Bilbo turned back to look about the bright and thriving Bag End garden and inhaled deeply of the strong sweet smell or earth and blossom. "It seems I have a lot to learn about gardening, Ham."

"Tis only a matter of practice, Mister Bilbo, sir." Hamfast turned back to the honeysuckle. When he'd finished with this there was that nasturtium to look to. If he didn't trim it back and settle it down a bit, it was like to strangle the marigolds, and that would never do.

END


End file.
